Dramione: WANTED

CHAPTER 12: GENUINE ITALIAN HAND SEWN DESIGNER ROBES

CHAPTER 12: GENUINE ITALIAN HAND SEWN DESIGNER ROBES

Hermione found herself on top a cold hill in the middle of nowhere, the thin jumper and jeans and her comfortable house slippers that she'd borrowed from Draco, doing nothing to protect her body from the onslaught of the wind. And even though it was cold and her breath came out in puffs of smoke and her form shivered, she made no move to warm herself up.

The coldness that she felt wasn't exterior, it was within her. Her heart seemed to have frozen over, making the rest of her freeze as well.

How was it possible to be smiling, truly smiling since being charged and running away for so long, only to feel broken and hopeless and filled with horror the next moment. One moment she was laughing, the next, she was reading about the murder of her best friend.

It didn't matter that he'd been after her too, that he thought that she was a killer, he'd been her friend, an ally and the only one who'd been able to make her smile during the darkest of times. And just like that, he was gone too. It wasn't enough that she'd lost valuable people already, but now of the closest two people she'd ever had to her, one was dead and the other was after her life because he thought she was the one committing all these treacherous acts.

She felt tears brim in her eyes and wondered what it was that hurt her the most, enough to make her cry after so long of holding those tears back. Ron was dead, Harry thought it was all her fault, she hadn't spoken to Ginny in years, the world was after her and Draco...

She'd left Draco, the only person who'd taken her in and treated her well in two years, and she'd just walked out on him. Would he try to look for her? Would he worry about her wellbeing or would he not care after all?

Clenching her fists to stop herself from breaking down there and then, she forced her mind clear and apparated near to an inn in Scotland that she knew was cheap and out of the way. Wiping her face and walking to the inn, her footsteps were slow and sluggish, her shoulders slouching with the effort of forcing the weight of the world onto them.

Paying with cash, she signed in under a false name and once in the small bedroom, fell face first into the pillow and finally allowed herself to cry. There was a part of her that resented that all she could do in such a situation was run away and cry, but after doing that for so long, it was second nature and she didn't know how to break that habit. Running away from conflict was so much easier than facing it head on and seeing the people she loves the most, get hurt because of her.

But another part of her mind encouraged her to keep crying, to let it all out. She'd kept her feelings bottles up for so long, and it was good to just cry. It was easier to listen to that side of her head than the one that was angry at herself for her behaviour. Once upon a time, she would have faced this head on and dealt with the consequences later, but that was so long ago and back then, she'd had her friends by her side to back her up.

Now she was all alone.

.*.

It was around midnight when Hermione woke up. After falling asleep from sheer tiredness, her stomach was grumbling quite determinedly. It was almost sad that even though something so terrible had happened, her body wanted to keep living and was doing all it can to remind her to feed it.

Crawling out of bed, she wiped her face clear of all her emotions, not wanting to be subject to questions from anyone and transfigured the blanket the inn provided, into a simple cloak that would keep her warm. In her hurry to leave the Malfoy Manor, she'd left her little bag of things and only had her wand with her, but she was thankful for that at the least.